


Baharat

by Dryad



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Prostitution, Under Jurisdiction, unity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 08:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10433067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: The spice of life...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 24 hours for Come at Once.
> 
> Zaffre's prompt was 'Take it slow'.

The man strapped to the chair screamed, writhing in pain that had yet to begin. He took a deep breath, his eyes catching John's before rolling back into his head as he screamed again.

The Oracle closed the inner door and turned back to John, a predator's grin on his lips. At the sight of John's expression, he sobered. "What is it? We have our man, now it's time to extract the relevant information."

John came to parade rest, and tried hard to keep the distaste at bay. The Oracle was having none of it, as he expected. They didn't call him the Oracle for nothing, even though John had come to realize that while observation wasn't magic, the Oracle was so good at it, it might as well have been magic.

"John."

"I don't know what you want me to say," he answered, lowering his tone at the twitching of the green-sleeved security bonds on either side of the door. "I'm a doctor, it's my place to put people back together again, not take them apart."

"Outside of the battlefield."

"Yes, obviously outside of the battlefield," he quickly repeated, though of course it was far too late for the modifier. The truth was that it didn't matter, he enjoyed the taking apart, too, but he wasn't paid to do it, and therein was the rub.

A short, colorless man with white-blonde hair slipped by Andrej, two more security bonds at his heels. He inclined his head at John. "Dr. Watson, you're not here to do my job, are you?"

"No, thank you, Dr. Koscuisko."

"You would be extremely proficient at it."

John smiled mirthlessly. "I prefer to leave torture to the professionals."

Koscuisko's mirror pale eyes gleamed. "Yes, my patients prefer it also, though not so much as me myself."

There was nothing he could say in response. Koscuisko was a brilliant surgeon; perhaps that was what made him such an equally brilliant torturer under Jurisdiction. 

"I've asked Mr. Holmes to join me, given his curiosity about the procedures," Koscuisko said, flitting around the room with a manic intensity John found questionable. "So come, let us to our sport begin."

The Oracle smirked and strode back to the door, raised his hand to hit the release, held it there. "Far be it for you to hold me from my work, John."

John watched the door slide open and the Oracle step inside, still smirking until the door shut again. He stood still for a long moment, seething for unknown reasons. The Oracle was absolutely infuriating. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and why he wanted. Frequently he forgot to mention the reasons why, and just as often let John take the fallout. Trying to explain to the world at large why the Oracle did anything was an exercise in frustration. 

Going back to the office was out of the question, and returning to the barracks to visit old friends held no appeal. He left the outer cell and headed back to his quarters, which formed part of the Oracle's suite. There was paperwork to be done, as always, he could visit the sick bay and see his few patients, he could exercise, he could get a pint with, oh, who was off shift beside himself...? No one came to mind, which left him even angrier. Lestrade had been seconded to _Clotagenium_ for two weeks, so no distraction there, either. Harry probably wanted for a call...John shook his head. In this mood he was useless to anyone who knew him. Exercise it was, then, and a pint, after. 

A circuit run round the ship, a fast shower, dressed in off-duty blues, John headed towards Baharat, the one place aboard the ship he had yet to visit. Officers only, which suited him just fine. He needed to be amongst men who...wouldn't mock his choices. 

The entrance of Baharat was at the end of the corridor, flanked by high price boutiques on either side. One sold jewelry and the like, the others fresh flowers and intimates. There was no security, so John slipped his id into the slot that requested it. A moment later the door slid open onto an empty hallway. John stepped through, looked to his left, looked to his right. The silence was absolute, he could barely hear the thrum of the engines in fact, he couldn't even feel the vibration under his feet, and that was darned eerie. 

Abruptly, in front of him, a narrow horizontal sign with glowing yellow letters and two arrows. BAR pointed towards the right, WELCOME to the left.

He went left.

The door slid open to a small, dim room with hard seating to the left. It was empty, which made him feel a little better. The lights dipped and he took a seat, crossing his legs and folding his arms. Time to see what was on offer.

The lights dimmed to quarter strength as the wall in front of John came to life. Panels he hadn't noticed before recessed into the walls, leaving two stunning women in front of him. The single spotlight above each one highlighted some of his favorite parts; the slope of a breast, the curve of a hip, the angle of a shoulder. They were very different types, however, and he decided on the spot that if he had enough time, he might spend his attentions on both of them.

The woman on the left shifted every so slightly, drawing his gaze immediately. She was a dark skinned beauty, sloe-eyed, wide hipped, heavy breasts taut and ripe, he could practically feel the weight of them on his palms already. She was short, too. If that wasn't enough, her waist-length hair was a mass of tiny, tiny braids tipped with gold darts, the odd gold beads shining within it as well. A fine gold belly chain disappeared into the twist of diaphanous white fabric about her hips, leaving most of her muscular legs revealed. The other woman was more slightly built, her skin dusky white, her hair dark and pulled into a twist behind her head. Her 'clothing' consisted of a scrap of glittering navy fabric through which he could see no sign of underwear. Though not as muscular as the first woman, her legs were shapely, and her shoulders square.

Before John had a chance to make his choice, the sigil on the black woman's arm flared carnelian orange. She bowed slightly at him, then left the room by an exit he couldn't see from where he was seated. That was fine, fine, he just had to make sure he didn't lose his chance. He slammed the card into the reader next to his chair, held it in hard to make sure it would be read. Several seconds passed, leaving him to wonder if he should go wherever he wanted, or if he should just give up altogether and have a sad wank in his bed. 

Thankfully the remaining woman's sigil flashed cerise, and she was his for the night.

The woman held out one hand and he took it, letting her draw him onto the 'stage' and toward the same exit the first woman had taken. He supposed he ought not be surprised by the bare hallway, after all, this was an interstellar battleship. There was little room for frippery or decoration any place that couldn't be secured in zero g. Still, it would have been nice to have something to look at other than dull metal painted charcoal. A hunting scene on a tapestry, or one of those mosaic art installations, yeah, that would be the best. Something to liven the place up a bit, instead of feeling like a person was walking to their doom.

Five doors down from the room he had entered, the woman's sigil glowed above the door in the same cerise pink that had highlighted her arm.  
She glanced back at him before entering the room, a quick, calculating look, which he approved of. Anyone in her line of work had to be cautious, that was just common sense, perhaps especially on a military ship. 

Happily, the room, though still austere, had been somewhat softened by the judicious use of small colored spotlights in shades of peach and pink and soft, clear yellow. There was a bed in one corner, and a variety of chairs scattered throughout. The bed would be used eventually, for now he just wanted to touch, as he wasn't allowed to do in the suite.

"Hey," he said, tugging her back to his side, almost hating to break the silence. "What's your name?"

"Pomona," she answered, her voice low.

"Daring," he muttered, drawing her closer. She smelled musky sweet, a perfume of some kind, pleasant enough without being overwhelming. 

"Appropriate," she answered, looping her arms around his neck. "I pluck ripe fruit."

He shook his head, taking her by the hips.

She twitched an eyebrow, hiding a smile. "Low hanging."

It was a terrible joke; he laughed anyway. 

They stood for a while, John relishing the warmth of her body, the way it was perfectly constructed. Oh, his questing fingertips found the odd scar, old lumps and bumps proof of a hopefully rambunctious childhood, rather than the other options. He was ready to slough off the day, be born anew in the original salton sea. 

"Over here," he said, walking backwards to the chaise he had spotted earlier. He didn't want the bed, it was too...there wasn't enough time for a bed. At least, he didn't think there would be. Thank god for easy trouser releases, he could undo his belt with one hand and shove them down just far enough. Pomona waited until he was settled before straddling his lap. She was a stunning woman, and would be even more with her hair down, but on this occasion he left it up. He wanted to see the stain of orgasm flush her skin, because he needed to touch.

He had a better vantage, now. The lights were warm, turning her skin a pleasant shade of gold, allowing him a view of her breasts, one slightly larger than the other, neither of them more than would fill a wide champagne glass. Her nipples were brown and pebbling under his gaze. He leaned forward and lavished one and then the other with his tongue, made her giggle and gasp when he grazed them with his teeth. Soon enough she was twisting away from side to side, making him chase her and giggling all the more for it. 

Pomona, for all that she was doing her job, was a good sport. She was genuine enough in her responses to make him like her even more, at least in this instance. Yeah, he would come back to see her when he could. He was tracing her shoulder blades while tonguing her neck when she pulled away, then pushed him until he fell back against the chaise. Christ, why did she want to stop now?

"Is this really all you want to do?" She asked, undoing John's shirt and laying him bare from his neck to where his trousers were pulled down. 

Well, he _was_ rampant and leaking. When he looked up, he found her gazing back with the slightest upturn at the corner of her mouth. Approval, maybe, although he couldn't imagine why. The number of pricks she saw in a day probably surpassed that of a Urologist. He slid one hand up one of her thighs, watched her breathing increase. The truth was that as a doctor, it was in his nature and his training to be observant, and given Pomona's career, he could only imagine the kind of personal danger she faced with every client. She seemed unperturbed, which made him all the more confident - and he was already a confident man when it came to women.

John ran two fingers up the seam of her sex, found it dewy with moisture, her clitoris just peeking through. She made the tiniest sound, so he did it again and her hips jerked. Oh yes, _yes_. She was ready and god only knew he was, too. "Come on, then."

She raised up on her knees and shuffled forward, bracing herself on the back of the chaise. John found a use for his mouth in the crook of her armpit, making her shriek a little. Soon enough he let his head rest against the chaise, lost in the bliss of her slick heat as she let herself back down onto his lap. "Oh fuck yeah," he whispered. He put both hands on her arse and urged her to move, focused on the magnificent suction of her body as she bounced up and down. 

All too soon John wanted her to move faster, to break the steady pace. The muscles of her thighs worked under his fingers, tightening and loosening as she rocked up and down. It wasn't enough.

He opened his eyes to find her staring at him, her forehead shiny with perspiration. She looked a little like he felt, and he was glad. It was what he had been missing with the Oracle. The rules were that she was there for his pleasure, but John had never been that kind of man. At least not since he was old enough to know better... Funny how immeasurably better sex became when everyone got off. "Do you want to come?" 

"Can I?" she asked with a breathless, high whine. 

John's lust surged because goddamn if he didn't hear it in another voice immediately after. "Do it."

She drew close to rock against his body, panting from the effort. Her small breasts were bouncing, her eyes were closed, her rhythm beginning to falter when she gave a short little grunt, a longer moan following almost immediately after. She slowed by didn't stop until John bodily lifted her off . 

It was the work of a few seconds, to get her positioned for best access. Her back was beautiful, the ratio between hip and bottom rib a curve of utter deliciousness. The Oracle had a beautiful back too. John knew because the Oracle liked to walk around draped in a sheet, or in a silken bathrobe the color of gunmetal. The Oracle was broader in the back, of course, his unexpected musculature stunning. John would never have guessed the man was built like that under his clothing, for on the face of it, he appeared to be tall and slim and in all honesty, once he turned those eyes on a person, that person was lost. 

John knew it well from personal experience.

Pomona fell forward a little bit, losing her grip on the edge of the chaise as she reached between her legs. He felt the brush of her fingers against his balls and looked down, watching himself appear and disappear, the firey sweetness rising in his blood, threatening to

burn

him

up - 

When he came back to himself, Pomona was gasping and moaning, and a second later he was grunting from the strength of her orgasm, streaks sensation running through him as she clenched down hard. Bent over her back, he kissed the back of her neck and slowly straightened, slipping out of her in the process. Christ, his back was burning, his arse still had to unclench, and his trousers around his ankles were irritating the fuck out of him. So to speak. He pulled them up and refastened them, wondering a moment later how he hadn't noticed when Pomona had taken off her scrap of skirt. Semen dripped out of her onto the floor, leaving him both pleased and embarrassed. It was a moment he loved to see, a matter of possessiveness that he didn't understand about himself. He could only blame his hindbrain and try not to let anyone else see his reaction. Thankfully, she appeared to not have noticed.

"That...was amazing," he said, fastening the sides of his shirt back together.

Pomona glanced at him over her shoulder, smiling as she tied knotted her skirt. "You're very welcome."

He didn't know what to say after that. In the Army he would have left the money on the tray and not thought anything of it. He might leave a gift, if the sex was especially good, like with Pomona. This was the Navy, however, and some of the rules were different. There was no offering tray because he had already paid, and if he had demanded something unusual, more would be taken from his card. He felt...it sounded stupid, but he felt they had a bit of connection. Not the romantic kind, this wasn't a pop-drama the masses would eat up. He just didn't want to leave without there being a resolution of a sort between the two of them.

Pomona must have understood, for she came to him and kissed his cheek. "You should go now. My shift's over and I'm starving."

"Oh," he said, feeling a little foolish. "I'm sure you must've had a long day."

She grinned. "But it had a fantastic ending."

He chuckled. "Yeah, for me, too."

She nodded at the door. "Off you go."

John took her words verbatim and left, for once pleased with the world and his place in it. He stopped in the viewing room and put his card back in the slot. Bringing up the tiny keypad, he added _Captain John Watson, MD. Call me if you need me._ It wasn't a ticket to a special event, or entrance to a fancy club, but now she knew his name and if she researched it, she would find out he worked with the Oracle on _Delphi_ and maybe that was good enough. 

As before, he didn't encounter anyone else, so of course, as soon as the club's exit door opened, the Oracle would be standing outside of it, leaning against the bulkhead with arms folded, clearly in a mood.

Mentally girding his loins, John headed out, the Oracle falling into step beside him. They headed back to the Oracle's suite, neither of them speaking. John had the sneaking suspicion that if either of them opened their mouths, blows would quickly ensue. The Oracle seemed brittle to John, as if - ah. Of course. John had pushed it to the back of his mind what the Oracle had been up to. Dr. Koscuisko's torture room.

He kept his mouth shut until they reached the suite, whereupon the Oracle swept in without a word. Once the door closed, however, he turned and loomed over John. 

John put his hands on his hips. "Yes?"

"How could you..." The Oracle practically spat the words out, his face twisting in anger. "Baharat!"

"What else was I supposed to do?" John shouted back, his temper back to where it had been earlier in the day. "You won't let me touch you!"

The Oracle reared back, blinking in shock.

John sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, abruptly aware of where they had been a second later, because he hadn't washed his hands afterward. 

"I...don't understand."

"Look," John reached out and took the Oracle by the upper arm. "Sherlock. I like to touch people when I sleep with them. You haven't let me do that and I needed it, I had to have it, I crave it...."

Sherlock looked at John's hand upon his arm, still frowning. "But why? Why do you want to touch me?"

Incredulous, John shook his head. "Because you're amazing? Because you're fantastic, and brilliant, and gorgeous, and I really, really, really want to make you feel good?"

Slowly Sherlock raised his head. "I...I have to take these things slow, John. I'm not used to being on the receiving end of such kindnesses."

"Oh," John raised both eyebrows. "It isn't a kindness on my part. You're just going to have to trust me when I say I have both of our interests at heart. Can you do that?"

He took a minute to mull it over, but finally nodded. "I can try."

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> 'Baharat' means Arabic for spice (at least that's what google tells me!)
> 
> Pomona is the Roman goddess of the orchard. 
> 
> Andrej Koscuisko and his Security Bonds lovingly borrowed from Susan R. Matthews['Under Jurisdiction'](http://www.susanrmatthews.com/novel/exchange-hostages/) novels (now back in print!!!!!1!)(Omnibus edition #1 'Fleet Inquisitor').
> 
> My Unity 'verse is a multi-fandom AU, in which other Sherlock stories include:
> 
> [Dust](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2526935)  
> [Deepen the Mystery](http://sherlock-remix.livejournal.com/77551.html) \- Sherlock Remix on lj  
> [Delphi](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3373607)


End file.
